


What Happens When 15 People Write One Fic or: Wrigen Exquisite Corpse

by automatronic, chicagotime, crabmoney3, DaydreamGlitterbug, Horsantula, Impernia, paopuleaf, peaksykid, tamsinb, tenworms2 (tenworms)



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Exquisite Corpse, a fucking beautiful mess, collab fic, cw: tillman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/automatronic/pseuds/automatronic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicagotime/pseuds/chicagotime, https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabmoney3/pseuds/crabmoney3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamGlitterbug/pseuds/DaydreamGlitterbug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horsantula/pseuds/Horsantula, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impernia/pseuds/Impernia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/paopuleaf/pseuds/paopuleaf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaksykid/pseuds/peaksykid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamsinb/pseuds/tamsinb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenworms/pseuds/tenworms2
Summary: 15 authors from the Crabitat banded together to write an exquisite corpse fic. Exquisite corpses are written section by section and passed around, with other the previous section visible to the person writing with everything else a mystery. This is a story that begins with Valentine Games, and ends with a phone call. Please enjoy how we got from point A to point B. See notes for authors
Relationships: I guess??? - Relationship, Valentine Games & Nagomi Mcdaniel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	What Happens When 15 People Write One Fic or: Wrigen Exquisite Corpse

**Author's Note:**

> The font changes every time there is a new author. All those involved with an AO3 are listed as co-creators (one is not yet listed due to permissions issues and is marked with *), those without are also listed here. 
> 
> ManicVolcanic, tenworms, DaydreamGlitterbug, bird, automatronic, chicagotime, Naff, Impernia, crabmoney3, tamsinb, crookedsaint*, cryptidgay, Horsantula, peaksykid, and paopuleaf

The feedback was getting louder, now. Incinerations didn’t have much going for them, but at least they limited themselves to during games. The feedback never went away, anywhere, but especially not in Los Angeli.

**And Val Games knew a thing or two about feedback. They missed the Hands, the Spies, and the Mills, of course, but the Crabs (the team) most of all. They wondered if there were any wild crabs (the animal) in the LAs, but gloogle searches just brought up seafood restaurants.**

_So, Val Games did what they knew best to do: look for crabs on the nearby beaches. If anything, it would remind them of their home: Baltimore and the team they left behind. They went to the beach and started to look for crabs by the shore of the rocks._ As they set to work turning over some of the smooth rocks that lined the shore, they languished in the dull cloying of waves against the sand and saltwater in the air. Games did not consider themselves faint-of-heart, but they were dragged from their unfamiliar reverie when the next upturned stone revealed the crushed shell of a horseshoe crab. Val had seen those before, and had stepped on the horrible legos of the sea far too many times to count, but something about the way it was crushed under a rock unnerved them. They picked up the largest piece, and held it in their hands, slowly replacing the rock.

The quiet lull of the waves against the beach was interrupted by the ever-heavy footsteps of Nagomi Mcdaniel. Silence hangs in the air like the roof of a blanket fort as they wordlessly condemn whoever did this to one of their own, before she sits down next to Val. More moments pass, each one slower than the next, as they soak in the sunset that bleeds like an amateur watercolor painting. Eventually, they both **reach for the bottle they brought with them, but it’s not there - their hands meet where it used to be.**  
**“Looking for this, lovebirds?” sneers Tillman, as he upends their bottle of Old Bay flavored Smirnoff, pounding half of it. Then, he** _threw the rest of the bottle over his shoulder, ignoring the way it bounced off the floor and started to leak out onto the carpet. “Man, this is some sad shit I’m seein’ right here._ _I can’t believe you thought you could just_ pour water on an incineration to stop it. You ever seen a grease fire? You ever seen how much worse one gets when you put water on it? Seriously, Mike, I get that you’re upset but damn that was pathetic.”

“haha cut me some slack, okay? there’s a reason i’ve only ever been on a team where the only off-field skill required of me is standing around on stage looking pretty.”

“Damn,” she said, unimpressed. “And you’re almost as shit at that as you are at pitching.”

A wind blew over them but it was thin and it left too much of their forms in its lee. Eyes afraid to meet, they decided now would be a great time to dispose of the remains; who else was going to? **They were the only ones left, after all. After everything. And with the corpses done away with, the loneliness that had been chasing them all along finally filled the room, filled their lungs with an aching sense of _nothing._** Every crack in the room, every tear in the wallpaper and warp in the floorboards, filled with ghosts — lurking at the edges of their vision, in past-tense memory and present-tense reality. What does one _do_ with such unquiet dead? Someone speaks up, breaks the silence with life and breath: “Hey, I’m hungry. Anyone wanna get some Chlili’s?” 

“Way to ruin the ambience!” someone snaps back. 

“Hey, okay, maybe we can share with the ghosts. Maybe they’d like that.” 

“You are insufferable.”

“Anyone got a phone? Is there even service here? Why did I even come with you all.”

_“I think we have at least one phone,” someone snickers, and there’s a rustling noise and an “ow,” and a disgruntled beep, and a recognizably annoyed “Give me that back!” After a moment, a hand comes out of the shadowy corner of the room, holding what is clearly Sebastian Telephone’s phonebat._

_Collective groans. “Does that thing even work?”_

_“Do you even work?_

_“Shut up.”_

"Who're we feeling to call?" The phonebat is passed around a bit, various tones of beeps going off before another hand reaches out and snatches it back.

"If you wanted to call you could _ask,_ " Seb says, annoyed, and there's a mix of snickers. "So, who?"

**“Commissioner’s office,” Derrick says matter-of-factly. Everyone turned to stare. “It’ll be funny. Plus they’ll probably have something interesting to say, yeah?”**

**Sebastian chuckled. “Yeah, sure, what the hell? Let’s try it out. I got MacMillan Three’s cell at some point, see if he still picks it up after all this time.”**

**He didn’t. Nobody could figure out why.**


End file.
